


Sometimes

by returntosaturn



Series: Sometimes [1]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/M, Mockingjay Spoilers, Pre-Epilogue Mockingjay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-28
Updated: 2013-12-28
Packaged: 2018-01-06 10:51:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1105937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/returntosaturn/pseuds/returntosaturn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabble about life in 12 after Mockingjay. Peeta POV.</p><p>"He wants to have babies. He’s always wanted them. But he knows that now is not the time, not when neither one of them in stable enough. So he doesn’t ask yet, but merely imagines what a little girl will look like with a braid like her mother’s and a boy with strong hands, never under the fear of paper and ink in a bowl."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sometimes

Sometimes he forgets who she is. Sometimes he can’t place her face at all, and sometimes she’s a deformed, mutilated mutt trying to claw at his throat. But sometime she’s just Katniss.

Just Katniss with her pretty, soft braid and soft lips and rough edges. On those days, he tries to forget that they’re both terribly damaged, still striving to live peacefully, still trying to learn who the other is. He doesn’t think they’ll ever really know. 

She doesn’t reach to touch him often. Usually in the quiet of the night at the break of a nightmare she’ll reach for him, curling into his nightshirt, hoping he’s actually Peeta this time and not a brainwashed monster. He holds her, shushes her, kisses her hair, and in these times he’s as lucid as he can be most days. He hates that these are the most tender moments they have had recently.

But today, she holds his hand as they walk in the meadow. Her fingers are warm and firm, and he remembers the first time he’d ever held her hand. In the chariot. He asks her if this memory is real, and she says yes. She never just nods. She’s always making certain that he understands the differences in the mutilated memories and reality, but sometimes he just gets tired of having to ask.

She carries a pail of fresh bread and cheese. Since Paylor had taken over, food had become better and widespread, but often they enjoyed the simple things. Baking calmed his nerves, and their new goat brought an instinct out in Katniss that she wasn’t even yet aware of. The meal was theirs, and though he could’ve cooked some delicious concoction of stewed vegetables and venison, he is perfectly content with their modest feast. 

They settle on the hill that overlooks that long untouched land of District 13. The sky is a swirl of long, slender pink clouds that remind him of Effie Trinket’s hair or a dress she once wore. (Now, she is usually seen in simple dresses with her honey colored hair in a bun, throwing seed to Haymitch’s geese). Under their bellies, lines of purple are beginning to thicken. Still, there’s a hint of the day’s blue, fading over their heads, being burned out by the vibrant colors of the evening. He thinks it would make a wonderful painting, and he tells her. She agrees, and suggests that he paint it soon.

She loves his painting. He loves that she loves it.

He leans into her, reclining into the crook of her arm. He smiles when she presses her nose into his blonde hair, and he tries to remember it for later when he slips away from himself. Maybe it will moor him.

He watches the colors bleed. As the pink fades to orange, he grins. 

She says its beautiful. 

Its nice to hear her say that. So often she is caught up with memories, with being hurt by his own memories, that he thinks there isn’t enough joy in her life. There never has been. But he supposes that they are equal in that respect, and he is glad that the small joys they have now come from each other, from Haymitch or Effie. He likes it that way. 

They have yet to have a toasting, but she promises that they will. She promises the spring, and he envisions her in a pretty blue dress with a crown of primrose. Haymitch in a rumpled suit, Effie dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief. Its beautiful, and he knows that the reality of it will be even better.

She has become responsible for keeping the house, and he does the cooking. She tends to the goat and hunts animals for their dinner. He thinks that she has a fear that one day even this tiny life will be taken from them. He remembers that she used to sell meat to people in town, but now she keeps it only for them. She barely talks to anyone in town, but then she never was good at making friends. They have been become shrouded in quiet, only interrupted by shouts and screams of their own voices.

He wants to have babies. He’s always wanted them. But he knows that now is not the time, not when neither one of them in stable enough. So he doesn’t ask yet, but merely imagines what a little girl will look like with a braid like her mother’s and a boy with strong hands, never under the fear of paper and ink in a bowl.

It’s a quiet, private life. But with her, he wouldn’t have it any different.

They munch their bread and cheese. He chuckles when she sniffs the bread like she’ll never lay eyes on it again. There was a time when this was true, but now he’d gladly bake the day away for her, never short of flour or yeast in this strange new world. There’s cookies waiting at home, and pink frosted petit fours. She said that she remembered seeing something like them in the Capitol, but he can’t place it. 

After their snack, the sky is nearly all purple. Katniss’s face has gone dark, her mouth a short line. Often, she drifts off like this. Her daydreams do not come in frightening flashes like his own. They are internal, always held within her beneath shining grey eyes and white knuckles. She is thinking of Prim. Or maybe Rue. He recognizes this face more than her smiling one, and it hurts more than any image of her as a ravenous mutt.

His fingers find the back of her neck, sweeping under her braid and circling the tense muscles. The skin there is warm.

She bends her head down against his shoulder, and he feels a single tear drip onto his shirt.

After a beat of silence, she sings. The Valley Song. His favorite, but he knows the words are not meant for him. 

When she quiets, she plays with the button on his sleeve for a minute before rising. Its getting darker by the second, and they should return home.

Haymitch’s house is lit when they pass and an unfamiliar but pleasant mix of laughter chimes from within. At first, when Effie showed up at the train station with a suitcase of belongings, Haymitch had a hard time allowing her to stay, and Peeta worried that their arrangement would not last long. But they seemed to be good for each other and had settled down easily. 

He smiles over at Katniss as they pass the bushes Effie was trying to nurse back to health, and pass their own primrose bushes, up the steps to their house. His house. Her house had been given to another family. Katniss insisted that she never step foot inside again. He didn’t blame her.

He lights the furnace and puts the kettle on before settling next to her on the sofa. She stuffs her socked feet under his knees, pulling herself close. She wraps herself and around him, and finally when the room is still and the wind is quiet, she whispers that she loves him.

He traces the wool of her scarf and this time does not ask if this is real.

He knows it is.


End file.
